


All The Wine

by finnicks



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnicks/pseuds/finnicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shameless one-shot regarding the famous e/R. It's Courfeyrac's birthday and Enjolras is sulking, Grantaire isn't in a partying mood, and the fallout is inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Written, as per usual, in the wee hours of the night so excuse errors and typos. :P Title from The National song "All the Wine." Enjoy!

It was a very loud party and Enjolras didn’t really like it. He was sulking in the corner of the Musain’s backroom muttering about wasting the ABC’s meeting space and time. He couldn’t say he was enjoying himself since he wasn’t really a party person, but it was Courfeyrac’s birthday so here he was… celebrating. Or something. Yay.

“Enjolras!” A loud voice shouted in Enjolras’ ear and he turned towards it, wincing slightly. It was a very drunk—a sight one didn’t see often—Combeferre, who had his arm slung around Joly who he was looking disheveled and pink. “You’ve only had one drink all night, Enj.” Combeferre said despairingly to a frowing Enjolras. “Come on, live a little.”

“Drinking’s bad for you, though, causes liver damage and delays brain signals.” Muttered Joly, who was in fact as hammered as Combeferre.

“Ah, but young malade imaginaire, is it not true that a drink every now and then is beneficial to one’s health and overall well-being?” Combeferre countered, only slightly less articulate in his drunkenness but his brilliance seemingly unimpaired.

“I suppose so,” Joly hiccupped a little.

“And it seems I have many weekly drinks to indulge in before the night is over, Jolllly. Let’s get another round, shall we?” Combeferre, who seemed to have forgotten all about Enjolras and didn’t hear his muttered “I don’t think that’s exactly how it works…” turned to leave, Joly still in tow.

“Come on, Enjolras,” Joly called over his shoulder as he was dragged away, “Grantaire is all mopey because you’re sulking and he’s no fun when he’s brooding-drunk.”

Sighing, Enjolras scowled as he made his way to the large group of people gathered around the bar at the back of the room. Éponine, who bartended at the Musain most nights, was wearing a pair of big yellow sunglasses as she poured the boys their drinks, keeping them laughing and shouting.

“Look who it is!” Courfeyrac’s gaze was drawn towards Enjolras as he quietly joined the large throng. “Best birthday ever, mate, thanks a billion!” His eyes shone in the dim light and his smile seemed to engulf his face.

“Don’t thank me, thank Jehan and Combeferre.” Enjolras protested, grudgingly accepting the tall cold drink that was pressed into his hand with a wink from Éponine.

“Already have.” Courfeyrac said wickedly, his eyes dancing. Enjolras laughed and stayed with Courf a while before he was called away by Bosseut for a round of shots which Enjolras declined.

Enjolras’ attention was caught by a moody Grantaire—who seemed to be having less fun than Enjolras, which was saying something—who was sitting at the end of the bar nursing a small bottle of something alcoholic and staring at Enjolras. Enjolras decided to join him, it would be better than just standing at the bar awkwardly talking to Éponine as she rushed around filling and mixing drinks.

“Hey,” Enjolras said as he slid onto the stool beside Grantaire. “I know why I’m not having any fun, but why aren’t you? You love parties.”

Grantaire muttered something unintelligible like “not in the mood,” before returning to the bottle of wine in his grasp.

“May I?” Enjolras motioned towards the bottle with an extended hand.

Grantaire looked as if his eyes might pop out of his head from incredulity. “You? Drinking? With _me_? Am I dreaming?” He was half-talking to himself as he offered the bottle up to Enjolras.

The bottle was warm from Grantaire’s grasp but when Enjolras took a sip it wasn’t the expected taste of wine he received. “Ugh, what the fuck, R, is this just whiskey? Do you actually drink this all the time?”

Grantaire laughed bitterly, “I can handle my drink much better than you can, Apollo.” He finally said snatching the bottle back from Enjolras, noting the slight flush already on his face.

They sat for a little while in silence, passing the bottle back and forth until Enjolras felt properly drunk and Grantaire was feeling relatively sloshy. At some point Enjolras had struck up a conversation about politics and Grantaire had joined in—mainly opposing all of Enjolras’ views and opinions—and was now comically gesticulating while ranting about the irony of the satirical portrayal of American government.

“We’re basically a parody of _our-fucking-selves_.” He said only slurring slightly.

Enjolras felt a bit too nauseous to reply with the same vehemence Grantaire had displayed, but instead found himself mesmerized by the movement of Grantaire’s lips, mouth, teeth. He began wondering all too vividly how those same lips and teeth would feel against his own, against his neck and jaw.

Distracted by the thought and sight of Grantaire’s own neck and jawline, he only realized he was staring stupidly when Grantaire snapped his fingers practically under Enjolras’ nose. “Where are you in that mind of yours, Apollo? Dreaming of revolution or Patria up there? Care to share with us mere mortals?”

“Don’t call me that,” Enjolras tried to swat away Grantaire’s hand and was momentarily caught by the feeling of his own flushed skin coming into contact with Grantaire’s warm hand.

“So what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing…”

“Aw, come on, Enjolras, I’d like to think I know you better than that now. I can practically read your mind at this point, you get that funny look on your face when you think too hard.” Grantaire practically pouted at Enjolras, his shaggy hair falling in his eyes. Enjolras resisted the urge to move it out of his face, to brush aside the curls and run his fingers along that smirking face. Grantaire leaned in towards Enjolras, staring intently into his eyes, blue meeting blue and Enjolras felt as if their gaze could penetrate centuries.

“Be serious,” Enjolras chided but his mouth twitched with a smile as he said it.

“I am wild.” Grantaire countered, eyes still locked on Enjolras, his dark blue eyes looking slightly crazed and also slightly sad.

“Why?” Enjolras found himself asking, they were facing each other now, knees almost touching in front of them.

“You don’t know?” Grantaire asked sadly—yes, definitely sad now. His clear eyes inspected Enjolras and Enjolras would have sworn in a past life those same eyes had probed him as they did now; pleadingly, despairingly, unwavering.

Enjolras blinked slowly before having a slight epiphany, it was that moment in the book where all the pieces came together to create the intricately laid plot-twist, it was the moment the protagonist knew what he or she had to do. Everything started making sense; from the odd way the other Amis treated Grantaire when he was along with Enjolras or being yelled at by Enjolras to the long talks Enjolras got from Combeferre about trying to be nicer and more understanding of Grantaire’s shortcomings. Was he really the last one to realize all this?

Before he could answer himself, before he could think about it too much, Enjolras felt himself closing the distance between them and kissing Grantaire right on the mouth.

Grantaire seemed honestly and genuinely surprised for a moment before he realized what was happening and began kissing Enjolras back, hard.

Enjolras felt Grantaire sigh into his mouth which only encouraged him to deepen the kiss, reaching to entangle his fingers into Grantaire’s hair, pulling him closer as he traced Grantaire’s teeth with his tongue.

He felt Grantaire’s hands on his waist and couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to stand up or somehow get onto Grantaire’s lap. But almost as soon as it began Grantaire was pulling away and shaking his head, sighing, his hair a mess and his mouth looking thoroughly kissed.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for us, Apollo. That ship has since sailed…” He said his voice sounding far away as he purposefully did not look at Enjolras. He muttered something about having to find Courfeyrac.

Enjolras felt confused before another wave of nausea made him and he was forced to rest his head on his arms to make the room stop spinning.

“And,” Grantaire rose from his seat and stopped to lean closer to Enjolras’ slumped figure, “you’re _drunk_.” He left, leaving Enjolras and the empty bottle alone at the bar.


End file.
